


Ours

by prouvairy



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Friendship, M/M, Silly, it's just fun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-05
Updated: 2013-05-05
Packaged: 2017-12-10 11:58:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/785811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prouvairy/pseuds/prouvairy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Modern AU, established relationship<br/>In which Enjolras and Grantaire are moving in together, and the others come to help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ours

**Author's Note:**

> Omg, don't take this too seriously, it's probably OOC a lot and it's all messy and illogical because I just wanted to write something fun and silly. I've moved house a lot of times in my life and I know how it is. I myself have sat on a sofa outside and stared at all the piles of boxes before, and watched people struggling to put together Ikea tables.

Grantaire knew what Enjolras was like by now. They had known each other for three years, been together for one, and when they had graduated from university, rather miraculously in Grantaire's case, it seemed like a natural step for them to get an apartment together. Natural for any regular couple, maybe. But Enjolras and Grantaire were not a regular couple.

“For Heaven's sake, Grantaire! If I hear the sound of breaking glass one more time, you are no longer living with me.”  
Grantaire was carrying boxes into the apartment, and at one point he had stumbled on the step outside and dropped Enjolras' plates; then, not too much later, a glass vase had fallen out of a not-very-well sealed box and smashed at his feet. It wasn't like Enjolras even really cared about any of this crap anyway. When they had been at university, Enjolras had spent almost all of his time working in his room, working in the library, and giving speeches at the café. Until the final year, that is, when Grantaire finally made him his and started taking him back to his building to do things that he considered much more important than assignments.   
Finally, the stack of boxes were safely inside their bedroom – the bedroom that was completely empty except for an extremely old-looking bed. A quick look around the flat reminded them of just how bare it was.  
“Ah,” said Enjolras, “we have to get the furniture out of the van now.”  
Grantaire looked at the beautiful blond man, and thought of the mess he'd made of much less important things, and decided that there was only one thing to do. He took his phone out of his pocket and called Combeferre.  
“Hello?”  
“It's R. Listen, we're at our new place and we need some assistance. We have all this furniture we need to bring inside and put together, and we didn't think to pay anyone to do it for us and by now it's too late to-”  
“All right, give me thirty minutes. I'll see what I can do.”

Forty-five minutes later, Enjolras and Grantaire's entire group of friends had arrived. Combeferre went straight over to Enjolras and began discussing organization and plans and logic and other unimportant things. Bahorel was at the van straight away, and he began to pull a large wardrobe out of it.  
“Well? Is anyone gonna help me?” He shouted, as his shoulder strained under the weight. Feuilly rushed over, followed by Courfeyrac, who seemed amused about the whole situation. Jehan approached Grantaire and greeted him with a hug; they had lived in the same building at university, and he had been partially responsible for Grantaire actually getting Enjolras to admit his feelings for him.   
“It's so nice that you're living together now,” he said with a smile. Grantaire shrugged.  
“It'll probably be more fun after all of this is over with.”

Joly was carrying mirrors inside, peering at himself in them as he went, and Bossuet, who was carrying a large lamp, almost tripped over him. Enjolras glared at them, and they managed to survive this time and get the items into the living room. Bahorel suddenly charged forward, carrying the front of the wardrobe, Feuilly at the other end, and Bossuet jumped out of the way to stop himself from getting squashed by the thing but only succeeded in crashing right into Joly, who dropped the last mirror. Enjolras looked furious. At least it wasn't Grantaire's fault this time.

Courfeyrac and Combeferre came in after, carrying chairs.  
“There's more chairs outside. What should we do with them?” Courfeyrac asked.  
“Just throw them anywhere, make a pile of them, whatever, just get them inside,” replied Grantaire, who really needed a drink by this point. “We'll move everything later.”  
There was a sudden loud roar from outside, and Grantaire peered out to see Éponine hopping off a motorbike and waving to the black-clad driver as he sped away again. She grinned as she saw the mess of furniture and random household items that still stood outside.  
“Need any extra help?”  
It turned out that her help was very welcome indeed, as she started carrying things inside as though she were a world champion of carrying heavy items.

Jehan was frowning at a pile of wood that sat on the grass. Feuilly, who was passing by, nudged him.  
“Are you okay with that?”  
Jehan picked up the largest piece of wood, and realisation dawned in his eyes. “Oh, it's a table. I suppose we have to put it together ourselves. Can you bring in the legs for me, Feuilly?”  
When the table pieces were inside, Jehan sat frowning at them again. Everyone else was busy working on other things, so this seemed to be his task.   
Ten minutes later, Grantaire wandered over to see a mutant table with legs that were definitely not where they should be.  
“I followed the instructions!” Jehan said, jumping to his feet. “I really did.”  
Grantaire laughed and shook his head. “At least you're pretty.”

Bahorel lounged on the couch that stood outside, waving up at a neighbour who was sticking his head out of the window to stare down at the commotion. Enjolras walked over to him, sighing.  
“Bahorel, I told you to bring this inside.”  
“I tried, but there was too much crap in the way. Éponine's made a tower of boxes and the chairs are all piled up. Are you sure we're not actually building a barricade here?”  
Enjolras was really beginning to regret this decision.

The group of friends stood and stared at the mess inside the apartment. Broken glass, boxes everywhere, and furniture, some intact and standing in random places, some still in pieces ready to be put together, and some mutated. The van was empty, but now they had a bigger problem. Ten people inside a small apartment trying to create some semblance of tidiness and order seemed like an idea doomed to die a terrible death. Until Combeferre spoke up, that is.  
“Joly and Bossuet, help Enjolras and Grantaire with their bedroom furniture. Courfeyrac, assemble the bookshelves and help Jehan to fix that table. Feuilly, go to the living room and move the rest of the furniture to reasonably sensible places. Bahorel, bring in the couch and then help Éponine with all the kitchenware. Throw the empty boxes into the van as you go. I'll walk around and make sure everyone's doing their job properly and clean up the mess.”  
They all nodded like schoolchildren and then set off to return to their chaos.

The bedroom was incredibly dusty. Joly was sneezing, and Bossuet was being made to run and get something to clean up with while Grantaire struggled with the wardrobe and Enjolras balanced precariously on the edge of a stool attaching a curtain pole. The window was open and the red curtains blew around his face from the wind. Suddenly, the pole slipped out of his grip, but then Grantaire was there catching it and grinning up at Enjolras, who smiled back. Maybe things would work out in the end.  
There came a scream from another room.  
On second thoughts, maybe they wouldn't.

“Éponine, what the hell!?”  
Combeferre had come running at the scream, and saw Éponine sitting on the floor surrounded by upended boxes of silver cutlery. She was holding a plate in one hand and a glass in the other, which she seemed to have miraculously rescued, and there was a bemused expression on her face.  
“They all just fell off the edge of the table, oh my god, if a knife had fallen on me I could've freaking died! Damn you and this whole thing, 'Ferre.” she sighed. “And now it's raining,” she added, glancing at the window. Combeferre followed her gaze, thinking hard.  
“It's raining, and... BAHOREL!”

A wet sofa was even more difficult to get inside than a dry one. Bahorel thanked every god he'd ever heard of that his friends were moving into an apartment on the bottom floor. If there had been stairs involved, it may well have been the end for them all.   
“Can someone help me?” he shouted. Jehan, who had finally put the table right, was the only person available, so he ran out to help move the damp, heavy red thing. He squeezed through the gap to push it from the back, like Feuilly had done with the wardrobe. He put all of his strength into it, which was a lot more than his small stature would suggest, and finally Bahorel got it into the hallway and on the way to the living room of the apartment. Jehan stopped for a moment and breathed heavily, proud that he had been useful after all, and watched Bahorel pull the sofa away from his view. When he was ready to go back in and start shelving Enjolras' books, which he had been looking forward to doing, he moved to walk inside – and then realised that the front door had closed and locked itself. He sighed and pressed the buzzer.  
“Guys! I'm locked out!”   
Nobody answered. Presumably, they were all too busy keeping themselves alive in there. He hammered on the door.   
“Please, someone let me in, it's raining!”  
Luckily, Enjolras, who was finishing with the curtains, heard the poet's voice. When he had been let in, Courfeyrac ran over to him, apologising even though it had been Bahorel's fault, and wrapped him up in a hug.

Thirty minutes later, everybody was sitting down, exhausted. Jehan was sandwiched between Courfeyrac and Feuilly on the still damp sofa, Bahorel perching on the arm. Éponine was sitting on a pile of empty boxes, and Joly and Bossuet were on the floor beside her, Joly blowing his nose but smiling and Bossuet nursing a graze on his arm that he'd got from a particularly nasty cupboard door. Combeferre was beside the last of the empty boxes, which he had promised to put in the van and then drive far away from this place. And Enjolras and Grantaire were seated amongst the pile of chairs, the only thing that hadn't been organized properly, and they looked almost like kings on a messy but definitely original throne. Grantaire was drinking from a bottle of wine, and Enjolras looked proud and content. They had succeeded, against all odds.

Later that night, Enjolras and Grantaire were sitting on their slightly less dusty bed, gazing around themselves at the room.  
“I'll start painting tomorrow,” said Grantaire. “It'll look great when it's finished.”  
“I think it will,” Enjolras replied with a slight smile, “and even if it doesn't, it's ours.”  
Grantaire gazed at Enjolras, taking in the way his golden hair shone in the glow of the lamp, and the curve of his soft lips, and the sparkle in his eyes.   
“I never thought we'd end up living together. You know we're going to argue about everything. You'll be sick of me within days.”  
“Possibly, but we won't know unless we try.” Enjolras smiled properly then, and pressed a kiss to Grantaire's lips. “So I suppose we should celebrate.”  
Grantaire grinned. “That's the best idea you've had all day.” And he pulled Enjolras down, pinning him to the sheets, and kissed him hungrily.


End file.
